


I don't wanna dance (if I'm not dancing with you)

by madgrad2011



Series: Begin Again [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Jon Snow is Not a Stark, Jonsa Autumn Drabbles, Minor Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark, POV Sansa Stark, Past Jon Snow/Ygritte, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26906155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madgrad2011/pseuds/madgrad2011
Summary: “I know why I’m not dancing,” Jon says affably, sliding into the chair beside hers. “Why aren’t you?”Autumn-Themed Drabble WeekPrompt: Magic
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Begin Again [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956382
Comments: 20
Kudos: 97
Collections: Jonsa Autumn Drabbles 2020





	I don't wanna dance (if I'm not dancing with you)

“I know why I’m not dancing,” Jon says affably, sliding into the chair beside hers. “Why aren’t you?”

She forces a smile. “Two left feet?”

He snorts, eyeing the half-empty flute of champagne in her hand.

(Robb had snuck it to her when their parents were greeting guests in the receiving line. “We’ll meet him next time you visit,” he had whispered pityingly.)

“That’s not true,” Jon retorts, slipping off his suit jacket. She twirls the stem between her fingers. “You love to dance.”

She catches sight of her parents slow-dancing and her heart clenches.

They had renewed their vows today, surrounded by friends and family, under the rustling, red leaves of the large weirwood tree in their backyard. The autumn air, albeit brisk, had been no match for her parents’ warm affection.

She would never forget the softness in her father’s eyes as he watched her mother walk towards him, the way her mother’s eyes - so like her own - had glistened with tears of joy, or the uneasiness she felt when she tried to imagine a ceremony like this with Harry.

 _Maybe something is wrong with me,_ she thinks sadly. _Maybe_ _the kind of magical, life-changing romance I’m looking for only exists in fiction and songs._

“Where’s your date?” She asks, hoping to divert his attention away from her and her melancholy.

“Didn’t bring one,” he replies, eyes focused on his drink. “Ygritte and I broke up a while ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” she says, shifting awkwardly.

Jon takes a sip of his bourbon. “It’s okay. Where’s yours?”

She shrugs and finishes her drink, nose wrinkling slightly. “Harry couldn’t come. He had an unexpected work thing.”

(He had called at the last minute to make his excuses: _This is the first time you’ve visited your family since the holidays. Don’t you want to spend time with just them? Work is crazy and you know traffic is terrible traveling north from The Vale during fall break. Are you really ready for me to meet your parents? I’ll make time soon, I promise._

Six months in and already so many broken promises.)

Jon scans her face, his eyes lingering on her frown. She feels _seen_ and it leaves her unsettled. She taps her fingernails on her glass, avoiding his gaze.

He stands, loosening his tie. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he repeats with a smirk, throwing his tie on the table and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. “Let’s dance.”

Her eyes travel from his outstretched hand to his sparkling grey eyes in disbelief. He nods encouragingly as she cautiously slips her hand in his and giggles at the way he walks backwards in the direction of the dance floor, eyebrows waggling.

***

Jon is a _terrible_ dancer.

But, what he lacks in rhythm, he makes up for in enthusiasm.

They’ve been dancing for hours now, only leaving the floor to get a drink and to let her kick off her heels. He’s currently teaching fifteen-year old Bran and eleven-year old Rickon a version of what she thinks is the sprinkler - complete with hip-thrusting and head-banging - while Arya spins like a dervish behind them. From the corner of her eye, she sees Robb and his girlfriend, Jeyne Westerling, doing the twist and her parents attempting to jitterbug.

 _Home,_ she thinks fondly as she twirls. Jon catches her eye and grins. His curls are loose and sweat dots his brow. Her chest swells with happiness and she laughs, breathless and dizzy with appreciation for _him_.

The tempo suddenly changes and a Sam Cooke song starts to play. Jon grabs her hand and pulls her towards him, wrapping his arm around her waist. She gently places her other hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.

“Thank you,” she whispers as they sway, “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

“Me neither,” Jon replies, looking at the floor. His hand flexes on her lower back and she bites her lip as she notices the careful way he’s shuffling his feet so he won’t step on her toes. She tightens her grip on his hand and leans forward, resting her flushed cheek on his collar. He turns them in a tight circle and her forehead brushes against his neck.

“New dress?” He asks after a moment. She pulls back to look at him with surprise and he swallows.

“I made it myself. Do you like it?” She winces a little at the neediness in her voice.

She had received the bolt of deep blue fabric for Christmas and had been trying to decide what to make with it ever since. When her parents mentioned their plans to renew their vows over the summer, she had been inspired. She had spent hours crafting the perfect mid-length cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline, full skirt, and hand-stitched replica of her family’s crest - a snarling direwolf - on the bodice. She thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever made.

“Yeah, it's...I like the wolf bit,” Jon says with a soft smile, his cheeks pink.

She beams.

***

The reception ends around 3:00 AM. Jon stays to help clean up and walks her out to her car.

“Thanks again,” she says, bouncing on her toes in the cold, early morning light. Jon nods mid-yawn and holds the driver’s door open for her while she puts her purse in the passenger seat.

“I’m going to sleep until at least noon,” he admits, rubbing his face with his free hand.

She laughs softly. “Me too.”

His eyes are dark in the waning light of the moon.

“I had a great time tonight, Jon.”

He scratches his jaw with a self-deprecating smirk. “Even with my gods-awful dancing? I’m shock-”

She leans forward quickly, her palm cradling one cheek as she presses her lips to the other. His beard tickles her chin and she smiles.

“Thank you,” she repeats on an exhale, pulling away.

_Maybe she still believes in magic after all._

**Author's Note:**

> The Sam Cooke song they slow dance to is "You Send Me."  
> Title from Taylor Swift's "Holy Ground"


End file.
